Cherries
by Miss Elisha
Summary: Ron and Hermione have been dancing around each other for months, and Hermione's feelings for him are ready to burst. Can an awkward moment turn into the chance they've been waiting for? Written preDH and now AU
1. Chapter 1

Cherries. He had gone to get her cherries.

She had said she would like to have some, merely mentioned it in passing. "Oh, wouldn't it be nice to have some cherries?" she said. "I love cherries, and I haven't had them in so long!" She sighed. "Perhaps later, when there is more time for such things. Right now there are more important things to deal with."

"I'll go get you some," Ron volunteered. "They're only in season for a bit, and we're not really doing anything important at this moment. You should use this time to indulge in something you love." A pause. He stared at her, and swallowed hard. "Cherries." He stood up suddenly and adjusted his clothes, wiping his palms on his jeans. "I'll get some for you." His face was as red as the cherries he was leaving to find as he raced out the door.

She leaned back against the pillows and _he_ brushed the hair out of her face. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and she could smell hair, sweat. _His hair. His sweat._ _Him_. That was all it took for her anymore, scent. _His scent_. Months spent in such close proximity to him, but never quite like this, never quite like she wanted. She wanted him, his hair, his sweat, his scent.

Harry had gone walking with Ginny. That spark had kindled, and though Harry tried to smother it, Ginny's fire was just too strong. _Why can't all Weasleys be as determined as Ginny?_ But he had fire too, she knew he did. And she would find it.

The hand on her stomach barely brushed her skin at the rim of her shirt. _His hand_. She sucked air in through her teeth as a finger ran across the bare line of her navel. _His finger_. This was always how it started, as nothing really, a slight movement, a whisper of a touch. _His touch_. And then her shirt was on the floor and her bra was pulled off and her jeans were unbuttoned. _He threw her shirt on the floor and pulled off her bra and unbuttoned her jeans_.

Hands were on her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples. _His hands, his thumbs_. She could feel lips on her neck, her shoulders, her chest. _His lips_. One hand _his hand _stayed on her breast, the other slid down the front of her and slipped under the edge of her pants. A finger _his finger _pressed into her folds and her body immediately responded, knees spreading wide and hips arching forward and heels digging in.

God, how she wanted him! So bad her blood felt a raging river, its wetness pooling around that finger. _His finger._ Pressing, circling, pinching, teasing. Caressing. _Loving._ Before it ever happened, she could feel him slide into her, the warmth, the strength, the gentle friction. Hands and fingers still moved on her, breasts and nipples and below, around and across and over and in.

Her body rocked, hips surging, back arching, toes curling, as the speed and pressure increased. In and out, and almost too much, and still never enough.

"Ron," she whispered.

_Hermione_.

She felt herself sweating now, the heat too much to keep inside of her. Her heat. _His heat, inside of her, all around her_.

"Ron," she moaned softly.

_Hermione._

And then she was there, cresting, clenching and releasing, straining and relaxing, _against him, for him, with him._

"Ron," she said.

"Hermione."

Her face froze in a grimace even as she felt the flood around her fingers, and her body shuddered.

"Ron," she breathed. She couldn't move. "What are you doing here?" Her brain wasn't working fast enough. Her thoughts were muggy. She had to do something. She couldn't do anything. Her eyes squeezed tighter shut.

"I brought you cherries." The door clicked shut.

Hermione opened her eyes and, seeing his back was turned, quickly sat up and pressed her own back to the wall. She grabbed the blanket and started to cover herself, but stopped before completing her task, watching him, entranced.

Still facing the door, Ron pulled his own shirt over his head and threw it into the pile on the floor.

"Ron, what are you doing?"

"I figure it's only fair." He turned around to face her, as pink as she knew she was.

At that thought she regained herself a bit and pulled the blanket up to cover her.

"You don't have to do that. That is, not on my account, anyway, because, you know, I… well, I… I like looking at you."

"I'm sure you do, Ronald Weasley!"

He took the few steps to the bed, and turned as he sat down on the edge, facing away from her again. "But I won't if you don't want me to."

At that Hermione softened. "Thank you."

"I'd do anything you want me to." His words were almost a whisper. He had softened too. "You know that, don't you, Hermione?"

She only sat there, staring at the smooth skin of his back, the shape of his shoulders, the curls of red behind his ears.

"Well," he said, standing up, "I'll just go then." And he stepped toward the door.

Without thinking, Hermione started, "Ron, I want you to…" _Kiss me. Hold me. Love me. _

"Yes?" he asked without looking back at her.

"Hand me my clothes, please." She sounded defeated. "And put your shirt back on."

At that moment, for once in her life, she was defeated.

"Yes, Hermione." Ron picked up the pile of clothes and handed Hermione's to her before putting his shirt back on. He turned to leave, but stopped again.

"What is it, Ron?"

Ron bent and picked up a small bag from the table beside the door. He crossed the room and handed it to Hermione. "Your cherries. So you can indulge. In something you love."

Hermione hung her head and closed her eyes. "Thank you, Ron."

And then the door clicked shut behind him, and Hermione let out a solitary sob.


	2. Same as Always

"Ron?" She'd whispered his name before even crawling out of the tent, didn't want to startle him. It was his guard shift, he'd be alert. She didn't want a wand drawn on her just this moment, didn't want any reason to change her course.

"I'm here, Hermione."

She did crawl out of the tent then, zipping it shut again before she stood. She searched a moment, her eyes taking in the dark, and found him sitting not too far off on a rock that jutted slightly out of the hill. He had his blanket wrapped around him, protecting him from the cold.

She went to him, walking as quietly as she could over the dry leaves and twigs, and sat down beside him. He wordlessly wrapped the side of the blanket around her, pulling it around the front of her to block the wind.

They sat a moment in silence. Nothing had changed between them, yet they knew everything had. A gaze, a shyness, a favor not asked where it previously would have passed out of hand. A surreptitious glance now and again from either of them, but nothing more. Both aware, neither admitting. The same as always, but somehow different.

"You should be asleep. What are you doing out here?" He didn't look at her as he spoke, could barely have seen her anyway in the sparse moonlight.

They hadn't been alone often since then, almost purposefully avoided it, and when they had it was alternately stilted and soft. Knowing but not saying, the same as always.

"I needed . . ." _You._

But he knew. "I haven't told him. Haven't told anybody. I wouldn't."

"I know that, Ron." _But what about me? Can't you tell me?_

"I think about it though. About you. Like that. All the time."

_Me too._

Wasn't that why she came out here? Wasn't that why she wasn't asleep, why she was braving the cold and the night _and possibly the end of her life_? It could all be over at any moment, and if neither one of them ever said anything more . . .

"We need to talk." _We need to indulge._

"It's not talking that'll help."

"Then let's not talk."


End file.
